Requited
by Like a Girl
Summary: 1870 New York, New York. Poverty is an infliction of the citizens and Christine Da'ae is no stranger to misfortune. However, when the Angel of Luck seems to smile upon her when a wealthy man moves into town, a satisfied stomach will not be the only change she suffers from. Her heart will also fall victim to new sensations. Erik/Christine
1. Prologue

The most defining quality of New York had to be the smell. Stench was a more appropriate word to describe it. As the carriage wheels rolled through the uneven streets, its occupants could hear frequent splashes of sewage, sending the ripe odor into the already foul air. One of the men in the nondescript vehicle covered his mouth and nose with a lightly perfumed handkerchief to filter out some of the vapors, while his friend simply gazed out the widow opening which lacked a glass pane. He could see how the sewage had accumulated, as more than one chamber pot and garbage bin was emptied onto the cobblestone within his sight.

The city itself was just as dirty as the air was, everything stained an unappealing brown, even the people. Many of the buildings appeared to be falling into various states of disrepair, and almost threatened to topple over. Homeless urchins sat on the curb of the street, picking through mounds of garbage in search of scraps that were still edible. More than one alley that was passed sheltered a whore on her knees roughly tending to a client who grunted in a very pig-like manner. Men plagued by poverty seemed to quickly revert towards an animalistic nature. It reminded the men of the slums in Paris, their previous home.

Though here the stench was far more impressive, since it was locked in place by tall buildings stuffed close together. At least French builders had the sense to leave some room for ventilation.

The population dwindled as the carriage left the area known as "Five Points" and entered a more upscale neighborhood. It was lined with neatly groomed apartments and the streets were dotted with well-garbed Anglo-Saxon businessmen and their women. Past the comely apartment buildings rolled the carriage onto the very edge of the city before pulling to a stop in front of a tall iron gate that sheltered a towering mansion.

The stone used in the construction of the elegant home was a dark gray, giving the building a very chill feeling which dissuaded visitors from calling on its inhabitants. The shutters were closed tightly over the windows and the paint had chipped off the wooden spindles that supported a railing around the front porch. The garden had also fallen victim to time and was overgrown with weeds that choked the green from the various shrubs and trees. Vines had begun to creep up the side of the mansion and overall its presence was one of great foreboding.

The carriage driver wrapped his coat just a bit tighter around himself before climbing down to open the door for his customers. The two gentlemen gracefully unfolded themselves from the cramped interior of the carriage and appraised the towering building with critical gazes. Unsure of what to do the poor cabby busied himself with unfastening the three heavy trunks from the back of his carriage and placing them on a relatively clean section of ground. When he was finished, the taller of the two men (who were both above standard New York height), dug into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a wad of cash. He counted out several bills and handed them to the cabby before dismissing him with a nod.

The stout driver clamored back into his seat and pulled away from the house before looking at the money to check if he had been paid enough. Fifteen dollars. That was a whole six dollars more than the fair due from the docks! Just how wealthy were these men who could throw that kind of cash around so carelessly?

In front of the house, the two men entered the creaky iron gate and approached their newly purchased house. The shorter of the two had dark skin, likely from middle eastern decent, and long dark hair which was tied with a leather cord at the base of his neck. The taller man was starkly pale and appeared white as a phantom next to his companion. Only the white porcelain of a half mask that covered his right profile proved he was not, in fact, truly ghostly in complexion. His thick black hair was combed neatly, sleeked over his head and stopping just above his collar. Both men wore expensive felt top-hats and well-tailored black overcoats that cut the October chill of the New England state.

They placed the two trunks on the floor just inside the grand entry room, beneath the chandelier which was clothed in a gray dust tarp. Oil lamps were mounted on the walls, empty of fuel and missing wicks. It was suffice to say the house was neglected. It would be throughout the following week that the furniture, all newly purchased, would arrive. Hardly enough time to get the house clean enough to meet the owner's standards. There was quite a lot of work for them to do.

_Author's Note:_

This is just a short introduction. A Prologue. Regular chapters will be posted shortly.

_Encompassing Disclaimer: I do not own anything. All rights belong to Gaston Leroux (novel) and Andrew Lloyd Webber (musical)._


	2. Chapter 1

Meg's eyes squeezed shut as she swallowed the salty liquid her current customer released with a most unflattering howl. Forcing a sultry smile onto her lips she stood and put him away before holding out her hand. The relatively well-kempt man slapped the fee into her palm before pressing an open-mouthed kiss onto her lips, which she reciprocated.

"I like you, doll-face." He slapped her ass and winked at her on his way out of her room.

"You know where to find me if you want more." She purred in response, running a hand over her breasts and batting her eyelashes. When the door was closed she dropped the façade and rolled her eyes, taking a swig from an ashy brown bottle so the acrid sting of whiskey could erase the salty flavor of his prick.

Adjusting her outfit and making sure her breasts were pushed up adequately; the little blonde girl exited her room and stood on the small landing that overlooked the seedy bar below. Madame Giry strutted up to her and Meg handed the cash over before turning her attention to the cat-calling men on the ground level of the tavern. She winked and flirted with them, blowing kisses and waving, asking them to keep her company. It was midday and that meant she could hopefully lure in some cleaner customers before the evening rush of grimy factory workers.

"Psst, Meg!"

In the door of the bar stood Christine. Meg sighed and grabbed her cloak cover the provocative outfit she wore before meeting the girl outside. Christine kept her hood pulled over her hair, and used it to shield her face.

"Hey Christine, what's the matter?"

The brunette was Meg's closest friend, and only friend who wasn't in the business.

"I wanted to make sure you're okay. I just…. Worry about you, ya' know?" Christine whispered and clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering.

"I'm fine Chrissy. Really, I am. I don't mind my job." That came out a bit harsher than she had meant it to and Meg took a calming breath, the icy air cutting her throat "Sorry. I know that it's hard for you to really get that, considering-"

Christine cut her off and nodded "Yea. I'm sorry."

Meg critically took in her friend's appearance. The cloak that was wrapped around Christine's thin form was becoming threadbare, the dress under it not standing in much better condition. Her small hands were bone white and tightly clutching the edges of her cloak in an effort to keep herself cocooned within it. Meg gently took her friend's hands in her own and rubbed them to return some warmth.

"Come on inside, I'll get you something hot to fill your stomach."

Christine shook her head "No, no I'm fine, I have a little money left from pawning that bracelet I found. I can manage."

Meg simply dragged the woman inside the steamy bar and caught the drink jockey's attention. "Get a bowl of something hot, please, and a beer." He nodded and moved behind the wall of alcohol to the kitchen.

Christine's face was heavily flushed due to the sudden rise in temperature, but her frame still trembled with cold. "I really hate it when you do this." She muttered to the blonde before sitting down on a bar stool.

Meg giggled and slouched over, leaning on the counter "I know hun, but I gotta take care of you."

Christine scowled and picked at the holes in her cloak before lowering the hood to let her long braid of hair fall over her shoulder. Her hair was a chestnut brown and curly, which complimented her petite heart-shaped face and creamy complexion. Wide, doe-like eyes were framed by long dark lashes and seated beneath delicately arched brows. She was lovely, even under the smudges of grime the marred her cheeks.

The bar tender returned with a bowl of steaming porridge and a large foaming glass of burgundy liquid, which he set down in front of Christine. He looked suggestively at Meg who scowled at him and threw a few coins at his head. The man chuckled before pocketing the money and attending to his other customers.

Christine ignored the loud pigs who shouted vulgar comments at her while she slowly ate her food, delicately blowing on each bite before consuming it. Meg observed her like a hawk, making sure she ate obediently and didn't run off. When the bowl was clean and her beer glass empty, Meg relaxed and took Christine up stairs to Madame Giry.

"Ma'am, can Christine stay in your room until I'm done working for the night?"

The Madame looked up with her thin lips pressed in a tight line before giving a measured nod and looking back to her chest of earnings, which she was counting. "My offer still stands, Christine."

Meg shot the older woman a withering glare for bringing up the job offer before walking back to the balcony and luring in customers with practiced skill. Christine sat stiffly in a stuffed chair against the wall, observing her lap and trying desperately to ignore the woman across the room from her. Trying even more desperately not to think of what Meg was doing just a few rooms over.

Christine, like most women in her situation, was no stranger to the selling of services only a woman could provide. Also like most women, it was an occupation she had not entered purposefully. She was now a pretty girl, eighteen years old, and without anyone except Meg. When Christine was six years old her mother had passed away, and shortly thereafter when she was ten her father had fallen gravely ill. Her modest living deteriorated as time went on until they were positively desolate and could hardly get by. In the summer after her twelfth birthday her father joined God and His angels. She was put onto the streets with ten dollars to her name. Her first course of action was to despairingly pawn off a few remaining broaches and earrings that had belonged to her mother in life. This increased her savings to fifty dollars total, which she stretched thinly enough they lasted her the next year and a half.

But the money ran out, as was to be predicted, and it did so in the dead of winter while snow was thick on the ground. Newly fourteen she was also confronted with her first monthly bleeding and felt lost and confused. So, of course when a beautiful woman offered her a warm meal and a bath, the impressionable girl hastily agreed.

The woman, Madame Belle, brought Christine into a richly furnished parlor lit by a roaring fire and glowing oil lamps. She was provided a bowl a stew and the Madame had a long talk with her, explaining what would happen as Christine came into her maturity. After her meal, she was given a hot bath in sweet smelling waters, dried off with fluffy towels and attended to by lovely women who smiled at her with pearly white teeth and painted lips. She slept that night in the softest bed she could ever remember having touched.

Of course the next morning Madame had very serious words for the fourteen year old. Christine owed Madame for the kindness she had been shown and the girl was expected to pay. Without a single penny left to her name, Christine began to cry as the Madame shouted at her for being ungrateful, shouted at her for stealing, shouted at her with threats to call the police. Christine begged the woman for mercy and a sly grin slithered onto Madame's lips and she carefully said there was a way Christine could help.

You see, Madame ran a business and Christine could work for her. She would work off her debt and then she could continue to work if she wished to keep living in the beautiful apartment surrounded by luxury. Christine agreed with tears of joy on her cheeks. That night she regretted it.

She regretted it as a very primly dressed man disrobed and covered her body with his own. She regretted it the next morning with Madame gleefully told her that the single night had made so much profit Christine's debt was repaid and she could begin to earn a salary. She regretted it when she was kicked onto the street for refusing to continue her work and she regretted it when she would wake with night terrors that poisoned her God-fearing heart with guilt.

Christine realized she had drifted off in her chair when Meg shook her awake many hours later, after the sun had fallen far below the horizon. The bar was nearly empty as Meg guided Christine across the landing and into the blonde's room. The two girls curled up in the small bed together that night, and early in the morning, Christine snuck off into the first few day light hours before Meg woke.

Mist covered the ground and most of the puddles on the street had a thin layer of ice covering them. A heavy blanket of clouds covered the sky, muting the sunlight and causing a deeper cold to settle over the city. Not many people were out on the streets so early in the morning. Christine kept her eyes averted from the alleyways, worried her gaze would fall upon the body of a poor soul who had frozen to death in the night. So focused was she on not losing her footing, she crashed into someone who was walking in the opposite direction. A surprised gasp flew from her lips and she stumbled backwards, nearly falling when a strong hand grasped her wrist and pulled her upright.

Fear washed over her and she hastily drew her arm away from the stranger, taking a step back without looking up "I- I'm so sorry, that was foolish of me. I was n-not looking where I was walking." She stumbled over an apology while slowly inching away. Her words came out broken due to the trembling of her lips from the cold already seeping into her bones.

"I'm fine, child." A very warm and very masculine voice answered "Are you alright?"

She nodded quickly and continued to back away. He extended a hand towards her and she scampered out of its reach.

"I'm not going to hurt you, child." He said softly and she risked a glanced up, taking in his weathered brown skin and fatherly eyes. Her Papa had the same look to his eyes. She decided not to flee.

He frowned "You look frozen to the core."

Christine bit her teeth together tightly to ward off chattering.

He scratched behind his neck and shifted his weight "Do you need a job, child?"

She eyed him warily, still not replying.

The dark skinned man continued "My associate and I just purchased a new home that sorely needs some cleaning before we properly move in. I'm actually in town to hire some staff members. Maids, cooks, gardeners, grooms etc. You could have a job there if you like. Whatever position you think you could fill best."

Christine opened her mouth to try and respond but her teeth began to clatter together and she couldn't bite out any words. She could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Sorrow clouded his eyes "At least let me buy you a proper cloak."

He offered her his hand, which she did not acknowledge and instead he began to walk down the street, pleased when she followed him. Christine kept a minimum of ten steps between them, but kept pace as he made his way to a tailor he had seen the previous afternoon during the carriage ride through town. Once there he held the door open for her, and she entered calmly, having recognized the building. The man entered and closed the door after him, removing his top hat and placing it under his arm.

A plump woman entered the room, smile fading as she saw Christine standing stiffly and her gaze warily settled on the mystery man. "Can I help you?" She asked dryly.

Unperturbed, the man smiled kindly "Yes, I'd like to have this young lady fitted with a proper wool cloak, if you would be so kind."

Taking in his stylish attire the woman seemed to conclude he could pay for it and ushered Christine behind a screen to measure her for the garment. The cloth was heavy and warm, a dark gray in color with a button at the neck. Christine let a small smile lift the corner of her lips when she looked at herself in the mirror. Her teeth had stopped chattering and she approached the man as he paid for the cloak.

Her voice was soft and shy, nearly a whisper, but her heard her "I can clean, if you please, sir."

A happy grin graced his face, showing off pearly white teeth. He turned back to the woman and gestured to Christine with something akin to pride. "My good woman, please set this delightful girl up with ten new dresses. Two of which should be standard main uniforms please. Along with three more cloaks and any other necessary garments."


	3. Chapter 2

Christine had refused to wear any of her new outfits while she was still covered in the grime and sweat her skin had accumulated over more weeks without bathing than she cared to confess to. Nadir, as the man had introduced himself ("Nadir Khan, child. But you may simply call me Nadir."), agreed and hailed a cab for the two, placing the garment boxes containing her very clean new dresses inside the cabin next to him, motioning for Christine to sit on the opposite bench. She watched as the slums passed by the window, then the upper-class apartments, then the town buildings, and then the edge of the city. Her eyes grew wide as she took in the mansion that the cab stopped in front of and felt very small next to Nadir when the reality of his wealth fell over her. She insisted on carrying half of her garment boxes as the two made their way up the stone pathway to the grand wooden door, which opened to reveal a vast entryway.

"I can show you to the kitchens, everything you need for a hot bath will be there."

Christine followed Nadir, taking in how dusty and faded everything appeared. Even so, the grandeur of the house was not lost on her. They entered a spacious and well equipped kitchen, equality dust-covered as the rest of the house. There was a large metal tub near the hearth and a private water pump in the corner. Nadir placed the boxes he was carrying on a counter and put his hands in his pockets.

"There are several rooms for employees through that door," he motioned towards a hallway attacked to the kitchen "and you may pick out any room you like. My associate and myself will not be moving in officially until the end of next week when the furniture has been brought in, though you will soon be joined by other staff members I will hire. The mattresses and bed sheets provided for you should be clean, though the rooms are not. Please feel free to make yourself comfortable, I shall return in several hours."

He exited the room and Christine did not move until she heard the front door close, the click of the latch echoing loudly through the manor. The vast emptiness of the house unnerved her and she began to hum quietly as she walked down the hallway, choosing the smallest room as her own and placing her new garment boxes by the foot of her bed. Back in the kitchen she set about lighting a fire and pumping water into a cauldron to be heated over the fire. Her humming developed into singing so as to fight off the eerie silence of the stone mansion. Once the water was heated several times over and tub filled, she added soap and disrobed quickly, hopping into the steaming water. Her singing got louder with her discomfort as if to ward off any spies or intruders and she rapidly washed the grime from her skin and oil from her hair. Christine had forgotten how challenging it was to not become tangled in her hip-length hair while bathing.

Once she finished bathing she dried off and dawned one of her new uniforms. It came with an extra set of skirts and thicker hosiery for winter, which she donned gleefully. The fabric felt soft and clean and new against her tingly skin. Once her shoes were pulled on she braided her long hair skillfully and pinned it against her scalp so she could place a simple bonnet over it. Smiling to herself, she felt more confident in her uniform and emptied the tub of the water onto the slanted kitchen floor, which channeled the water out the back door, before rolling up her sleeves and locating a few rags and boiling some water for washing.

She started her cleaning in the servant's rooms and worked her way into the kitchen, figuring that those were the area's most immediately in need of tidying. She dusted dirt off every surface and swept what she could out the back door before setting to work scrubbing every surface clean. Next, she moved to the entry hall, repeating the process. She felt good doing work; it filled her with a sense of accomplishment and worth. Christine sang every song she could think of, even making a few up as time went by, in order to occupy her idle mind. She was a fast and efficient worker, taking pride in her accomplishments and happily noting that each surface she cleaned seemed to make the house a little brighter. She made a note to go back over all the wood work with polish after the house was cleaned. Halfway through cleaning the entry hall, Nadir arrived back at the house, effectively ending her singing and she flushed slightly in embarrassment.

He looked over her work and smiled widely at her "Very good work Christine! I'm most impressed."

She stood, stretching her legs and curtsied to him, seeing several people behind him toting trunks and suitcases. He told them to please wipe their feet before entering, and showed the eight new workers to the kitchen. Three more maids, two cooks, two stable hands, and a gardener. Christine got back to work cleaning, and asked Nadir if he knew where to find a ladder she could use to reach the chandelier. He helped her locate one and held it steady for her while she removed the dust blanket and climbed down. It was elegant and beautifully intact with little crystal pots to fill with lamp oil.

Shortly after Nadir left, the three new maids came to her with their own cleaning supplies and got to work. Once midday came around, the cooks called the rest of the staff in for lunch. Christine was properly introduced to her fellow employees and she made pleasant conversation with them, even laughing at a few stories that were shared. They all thanked her for cleaning up their living area and she blushed slightly at their words of praise. It seemed that Nadir had a skill for locating kind-hearted people.

After a long day of cleaning, nearly half of the first floor was presentable, which left the rest of the ground floor in addition to three more levels of the house to be cleaned. Not including the cellars, though the cooks had graciously offered to take charge of those since they were primarily used for storing foodstuffs.

Christine sat on her bed and massaged her neck which ached from looking down as she worked so much. She took off her shoes and stripped down to her chemise before slipping a thick woolen nightgown over her head. Once done with that she made up her bed and unpinned her head from its bun and re-braided it before slipping off into a comfortable night's sleep.

Habit forced Christine to wake with the sun, only a few rays of light peeking over the horizon. Quietly, she stood and dressed for the day, taking care to brush her shining brown curls until they were silky. No one else was up and she cut herself a small slice of bread and cheese for a snack before gathering her supplies and getting to work cleaning the large house. Feeling at ease she began to sing, very quietly, to herself. It was a silly song her father had taught her, some nonsense about a girl named Little Lotte who dreamed of an angel of music. Her voice was slightly scratchy, but as her throat woke up the scratch dissolved into the notes of music. Singing had always been something Christine adored, as it was a favorite pastime of her family when her mother had been alive and it was what kept her father's spirits high after his wife's passing.

Soon, the rest of the staff woke and Christine ate a proper breakfast. The four maids worked well together and efficiently went about their work while chattering idly about small topics of town gossip. It felt very satisfying to Christine that she not only found a comfortable occupation, but it seemed she would no longer be starved for companions.


	4. Chapter 3

"Erik, I am going out." Nadir Khan called into the muffled shadows of his friends sleeping chambers. Though, knowing Erik, he was wide awake within the darkness.

No reply came and the Persian simply shrugged his overcoat into place and exited the small rented apartment. A lamp was lit shortly after his departure and the unaffected face of Mr. Erik was illuminated. His mask from the previous day was not in place, and the jagged flesh which covered the right side of his face was on display for the empty room. His right eye socket appeared deeper set than his left due to the risen scars on his cheekbone, and the side of his nose drooped as if melting. There were no lashes along his eye or hairs along his brow on the right side of his face. The hair line was uneven as his deformity crept up his scalp.

Erik stared into space for a moment, his hazel eyes appearing yellow in the dim lighting. Then, with slow cat-like movements, he stood and opened a thick case to unveil pages and pages of sheet music, some loose, some bound within leather covers, some tied together with bits of string. He looked down at the music, observing many titles which would be well known and even famous in Europe. His compositions had been most popular there. A few of them had even managed, in their success, to make their way across the ocean to the Americas where he was now. Luckily for him, too, as it would make the sale of his works to Broadway much easier.

The apartment was very small, only two bedrooms, a washroom, a parlor and a cramped kitchen. But their stay would be very brief, so it mattered not. Left with little to do, not having the space to compose nor an instrument to play, Erik opted to sit idly in a chair until inspiration spurred him into action.

When Nadir arrived back at the apartment, Erik had not moved other than to replace his velvet lined mask.

"We have a small staff in place at the house!" the Persian jovially informed him, setting a paper bag of food on the parlor table. Erik did not share the man's meal.

"The first girl I hired is a hard worker; I have yet to know about the rest." He continued with a smile.

Erik listened intently as his associate chattered on about his expectations for the house and what he witnessed when wandering the city. The conversation was very much one-sided, though that was nothing new.

"Perhaps while we are here, we could view some of the local theater performances," Nadir suddenly suggested and Erik snorted in distaste.

"I have already informed you, the theater never does anything more than dissatisfy me."

Nadir sighed and took a bite of his food "You say that, but never have you explained why they are such a disappointment."

"The utter lack of skill all performers seem to be cursed with. The utter lack in potential too." Erik reclined in his chair and stared broodingly out the window. His conversation partner did not reply.

Nadir hired two more maids the next day and sent them to work at the house. Christine and her friends had begun work on the third floor already and she asked the new comers to continue cleaning while she set to work polishing the wood work of the house. She used great care when working a healthy shine into the floors and doorframes, a heavy cloth tied over her face as protection from the fumes.

Every wood surface in the house fell victim to Christine. She intently worked over the mansion, wishing to bring out its full potential for beauty. At dinner, she was light-heartedly teased over her efforts, told she worked too hard. Her only reply was that she wanted to ensure their deadline was met.

Slowly, the strength returned to Christine's limbs and muscle began to coat her bony arms from scrubbing away with soap and polish. A healthy pigment returned to her cheeks and her eyes lost the dull glaze which had infested them. By the time the furniture began to arrive, the house was clean from top to bottom and polished until it shined, and Christine's spirit seemed to have been similarly affected. While Nadir directed the movers where to place the various items, the maids worked to ready the house to be inhabited. They filled each lamp with oil and a wick, dishes and silverware were unpacked into the appropriate cabinetry, and the pantry and cellar were stocked with goods.

Christine had watched with excitement as a piano was moved in, along with what seemed to be a disassembled organ. They were set up in a second story office that was nearly six by seven meters. Two desks were also placed in the room along with heavy drapes which hung over the window and served as wall decorations.

When all was finished, the house was beautiful. Oriental rugs covered the floors, ornate sofas and lounge chairs circled hand-carved coffee tables, detailed paintings hung on the walls and stunning decorations littered the tops of dressers and vanities. The staff was in awe of the splendor which surrounded them. Christine doubted even the wealthiest of families who lived in the New York apartments existed in such extravagance. Nadir claimed a third story bedroom as his own, stating that the master suit was for his associate, who would be living there as well.

Master Khan warned that his colleague (who was to be addressed as "Master Destler") was very temperamental, and that care should be taken to not disturb him. Not much would be seen of him, and one should always knock before entering his room or the musical office on the second floor, as those were his private chambers. Great caution should be used when cleaning his rooms as he would throw a fit if his things were disturbed.

These announcements slightly unnerved the staff. Master Khan was a very kind and jovial individual; it was hard to believe that his close friend could be so antonymous in character.

The same day that the two Masters moved in, two new carriages arrived along with four new stallions. Master Khan advised that the less lavish of the two carriages was for use by the staff when trips into town were necessary, or even when desired if permission was granted. It was also on that day that the first wages were distributed in crisp ivory envelopes.

Christine looked at her salary that evening, after she had retired to her room. Its contents shocked her. There were eight pressed five dollar bills inside the envelope, one for each day she had worked there. She felt her jaw drop. Five dollars daily salary was well above what an average working man would receive, let alone a woman.

This kind of money was absurd!

The next morning, Master Khan introduced two new cooks to the staff, and informed everyone when their day off would be. Full staff would have Sunday mornings at their disposal to attend church services or observe other Sabbath rituals. Christine shared Monday vacations with one of the stable hands named Raoul. On their day off, Nadir said, they would be free to use their carriage as they pleased, so long as it would not interrupt the chores of those who were working.

On Christine's first Monday, she had Raoul drive her into town to visit Meg. When he saw where they were he entered the building and purchased the services of a working girl on the second floor. Meg beamed when she saw Christine, her smile only getting wider when she took in her friend's appearance.

"Christine! Look at you! I was so worried when you slipped off but clearly that wasn't necessary." Meg wrapped the skinnier girl in a happy embrace.

Christine looked down the two inches it took for her to meet Meg's gaze. "I got a job! It was such good luck. I bumped into a man who just bought a house on the edge of town and he offered me work as a maid there."

Meg listened as Christine regaled her with a detailed account of the house she was working in, and her fellow employees.

"I'm so happy for you!" Meg's eyes danced with relief for her friend "Plus now I don't need to worry for your sake, that was getting exhausting."

Christine laughed and Meg smiled at the happy sound. She couldn't remember ever hearing such a carefree noise issue from Christine. The two saw each other more as sisters than friends, having grown to care deeply for each other over the three years of their friendship.

"I make a full five dollars a day, too! You better be prepared for some presents soon." Christine giggled

Meg laughed heartily "I'm flattered you would waste your wealth on me!"

The young women continued to talk until Raoul walked rather proudly down the stairs and told Christine he was ready to leave. The girl he had been with waved silently at Meg to catch her attention before making a crude gesture and giggling. Meg laughed and informed Christine that the girl meant Raoul had been a very immature lover. The brunette blushed darkly at that information and bid Meg farewell with a hug and a promise to visit again before climbing up beside Raoul on the carriage, who she sat rather uncomfortably next to.

He informed her that he planned to stop in the market for personal shopping and to purchase groceries for the chef's.

Back at the mansion, Christine relaxed by the kitchen hearth while embroidering a delicate border onto her plain handkerchief. She had used some of her money to buy sewing materials so she might doll up a few of her belongings. Idly, she hummed to herself and flushed when the cook told her she had a pretty little voice and hoped one day Chrissy would sing for them. When the sun was beginning to set, magic invaded the castle and everyone froze in surprise at the sound.

A beautiful melody, distinctly piano, floated down from the second floor of the house. It haunted every inch within Christine's body and she felt her eyes drift closed while her ears drank in the masterfully played notes. She had never heard such magnificence before and was captivated even after those around her shook off their shock and continued to go about their work. She sat and listened to the music which was no doubt being played by the mysterious Master Destler.

Helen, one of the cooks, shook her from the trance when dinner was ready, but she remained distracted while she ate. Well past dinner the music played on, and Christine lay awake in her bed until the late hours of the night listening until the piano stopped sometime near midnight. She felt the music still alive within her and fell asleep humming the tune.


	5. Chapter 4

During the first few days, it became clear to the staff that the new Master of the house would not be frequently seen. None of the maids had caught the slightest glimpse of the man after he moved in, creating an even greater air of mystery around him than what had already been established. Master Khan did not take any notice of his friend's strange skill for maneuvering the through the house in such secrecy, simply going about his usual business without much concern. Therefore the maids took turns placing a tray of food by the door of Master Destler's bedroom, sometimes inside when the door was unlocked. They also took turns dusting his chambers, and it was the fault of Miss Kathleen that the staff became acquainted with the man's temper. It was also because of her doing that he was seen for the first time since he moved in a week ago.

It was her turn to clean his room when the door to his music office was unlocked for the first time since it had been put into use. According to Kathleen, there were papers everywhere, and ink smudges all across the desks. Half completed musical scores were messily piled on the music stand in front of the piano and dust had begun to settle on the cluttered shelves on the right hand wall of the room. She made the mistake of "tidying up" his musical papers.

The whole house grew silent when the great SLAM of a heavy door was heard and thundering footsteps came down the stairs, heading straight for the kitchens.

"WHO?" a melodious and powerful voice thundered through the halls and suddenly he was there in the doorway to the kitchen, murderously glaring at the stunned employees. Had the flesh-and-blood man not appeared to accompany the sound, the staff might have thought they had been witness to the vengeful voice of God.

Christine was the nearest to him and he leveled her with his gaze. He stood at six feet and three inches, towering over her small build of 5' 4". He was dressed very stylishly in a three piece opera suit, missing the jacket but otherwise crisply garbed. A golden chain hooked on a button of his vest and led to the small pocket on the left side of his abdomen. His hair was impeccably combed over his skull and his cold white mask was in place. Fear crashed over Christine like a tsunami.

"Who is responsible for the absolutely sinful condition my office is in?!" He growled out, looking directly at her.

She clung to the broom in her hands and attempted to spit out an answer but her lungs refused to take breath.

"Me," A very, very small voice squeaked from the opposite corner of the room.

Kathleen stood there, trembling like a leaf, pressed against the wall.

"You," he hissed, voice filled with venom. For a moment Christine marveled at how such a beautiful voice could sound so positively deadly.

In eight smooth steps he stood before the offender and grabbed her by the forearm, hauling her from the room and up the stairs. Christine remained frozen with the rest of her friends before life returned to her limbs and she dropped the broom, rushing after the man on a rampage. Her racing heart thundered in her ears and drowned the sound of her friends calling after her, having found control of their voices.

She saw Master Destler toss Kathleen to the floorboards inside his office and begin bellowing at her about her carelessness, about her utter disregard for other people's belongings. On the desks were neat piles of sheet music, most likely out of order, and on the floor was Kathleen. Tears poured down her cheeks and she shuffled backwards across the floor as the terrifying archangel of a man advanced towards her.

Christine steeled her nerves and ran around him to collect the nearly hysterical girl against her breast.

"Please, sir!" She said

Master Destler froze in surprise before sneering at them and parting his lips to continue his tirade but Christine beat him to it.

"Please! Master Destler, she did not know any better, please sir. I promise, no I- I swear that it won't happen again." Christine begged him on behalf of her friend.

Before and answer could be given, Nadir dashed into the room. "Erik!"

His voice was commanding and Master Destler rolled his eyes before glowering at his friend.

"Please, calm down. The girl didn't know any better. It's my fault, I did not make it clear that your music was not to be disturbed during cleaning." Nadir's tone was calm and even.

Master Destler did not answer immediately, instead looking back at Christine who was desperately shushing the sobbing girl who had offended her employer.

"Fine." Was the malicious sounding response Master Destler gave.

He stared at Christine until she looked at him "But I will hold you to that promise, girl. If this happens again, you shall be who I hold responsible."

With that he turned on his heal and strode gracefully from the room. Nadir let out a relieved sigh before sinking into one of the chairs placed near the fireplace. Kathleen continued to cry, though her gasping quieted as Christine stroked her hair.

"I apologize for that," Nadir said tiredly.

Christine nodded absently, her mind racing. Master Destler's voice seemed to have some sort of accent to it. Italian? French, maybe? Either way it made his English sound hearty and rich, a quality only enhanced by his Baritone voice which became a smooth tenor when shouting. He had a very powerful physical presence in a room, which commanded respect. His jaw was chiseled and angular, supporting high cheekbones and a broad forehead. His most startling features (aside from his mask) were his cat like eyes that almost appeared to be golden in color.

Taking a steadying breath, she helped Kathleen to stand and supported her as they made their way back to the kitchen. The poor girl was wrapped in a blanket and sat down with a warm cup of tea. Away from Kathleen, the staff interrogated Christine about what happened upstairs. She provided only vague answers before claiming fatigue and retiring to her room. A slight trembling infested her once the door was closed and she sat on the edge of her thin mattress, staring at her small hands as they shook.

The wrath of her Master was not something she wished to be victim to again. She made a quiet promise that from now on she would clean his quarters so as to make sure there would be no incident in the future. Or at least if there was, she would truly be to blame and would not fall prey to his wrath while the fault lay elsewhere.

A heavy exhaustion caused Christine to fall asleep without supper or changing into her night clothes. She woke only once to remove the pins from her hair and untie her corset before drifting back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 5

"Are you sure you're safe there?" Meg asked after Christine finished telling her about the events of earlier that week.

Christine nodded slowly "Yes. Master Khan would not let him truly harm anyone. And I don't think that was the intention anyway, he just wanted to scare her."

Since the frightening encounter with Master Destler, Christine had thought over the events and come to the conclusion that it was to be expected. Master Khan had warned them not to bother Master Destler's things and Kathleen had done far more than disturb them. They had all been warned that the man had a temper, and after all, Kathleen wasn't hurt nor was she without a job.

Meg sighed "If you say so. Still sounds scary. You said he wears a mask right? I wonder why… what's he hiding?"

"I don't know."

Meg's face scrunched up slightly as she brainstormed. "Probably some defect. Maybe he got it fighting down South?"

"No," Christine shook her head "he has an accent. I think he's from Europe."

"Then a birth defect perhaps. You've seen how some people are born with big splotches of color on their skin, or with wrinkled flesh that looks like a burn scar."

It would be a lie to say that Christine wasn't curious about what was under his mask. But after that display of fury over his music, she never wanted to risk the wrath that would be incurred by getting a peek at his face.

Christine left with a promise to visit again next Monday, and left with Raoul. It was becoming a routine for them. Raoul would take her to visit with Meg every Monday while he would make use of the services available to him at the bar. The two of them became rather close friends, as they had the day off together and thus made plenty of conversation whilst in town. Raoul told her happy stories of his childhood, growing up in a small desolate home. That he could find happiness in such conditions was a great source of strength for Christine. She felt that his still stories which inspired heartfelt laughter were becoming something she relied on nearly as much as she depended on Meg.

Christine bestowed the first of many gifts upon her best friend in the form of a gold and emerald bracelet, two months since the start of her employment at the house on a hill. For all Meg's crass talk, she still cried when the beautiful present was given and thanked Christine profusely for the gorgeous piece of jewelry.

In those two months (nine weeks since "the incident" as it was called), Christine took over the responsibility of cleaning Master Destler's office and keeping his bedroom in order. She would change the sheets on his bed and collect his laundry. She would clean his floors and wipe down his furniture with a damp cloth to collect dust. She would clean the ink smudges from his desk, which she did using the utmost care not to disturb his papers, even going so far as to wrap a rag around a small dowel to clean between sheets of music.

Luckily he never found fault in her efforts.

She eventually relaxed again in her cleaning, and found herself humming while she worked. Nerves had silenced her after "the incident" and she used all her concentration to be cautious while cleaning. But now she would hum when she refilled oil lamps and sing softly while dusting. With her love for music once again alive, she found her gaze curiously studying the hundreds of sheets of music that littered Master Destler's desks. She observed which piano keys were most heavily used when she cleaned black ink from the ivory. Idly she would hum the songs that would issue down from the music room at night or during the early morning and took root in her thoughts.

Her friends took notice of it and encouraged her habit, admitting to enjoying the happy sound. It calmed many of them and provided a house that felt less empty. Raoul was even so bold as to call her humming angelic, stating that it made the large manor feel as though it inhabited a cloud of heaven.

She grew to love her job of cleaning the office, as it gave her a chance to be close to the beautiful instruments which her employer seemed to collect. The room slowly filled with various other musical mechanisms such as a violin, flute, cello, harp, and several other items she could not name. It felt almost magical to Christine, the knowledge that in this room the music of the heavens was created, for Master Destler truly possessed a gift.

Eventually she found herself happily singing every time she cleaned his music office, enjoying the way the heavy curtains and plush rugs stopped her voice from echoing. She just felt obligated to pay homage to the glorious organ and piano (which she took great pride in polishing) through contributing a small, modest bit of music to their greatness.

One day, about three months after "the incident" she was singing a peaceful tune to herself when she turned and caught eye of Master Destler, standing immobile in the door. Her voice cut off with a small yelp and she dropped the rag full of polish she had been using on the organ's pipes. Her feet stumbled backwards, nearly tripping on her skirts, and her hand flew to cover her pounding heart. Quickly heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized he must have heard her horrible singing.

Stooping to collect the rag before the polish stained the expensive rug, she attempted to stutter out an apology. However, the intensity of Master Destler's gaze made her trail off. She picked at the edge of the polishing rag nervously, not moving.

Suddenly he closed the door behind him and strode to the piano bench, gracefully sitting down and placing his long fingers over the newly cleaned keys.

"You know the Requiem?" He asked calmly as his fingers danced through a few scales.

"Ah… y-yes, Master Destler." Christine murmured weakly.

"Sing it." He commanded and played through one last scale.

"Oh, no sir I don't sing very well-"

Her protests were silenced with a glance. "Sing it." He repeated with more force. "As though you stand upon a stage."

Christine nodded and grabbed the edges of her apron tightly, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. She closed her eyes and attempted to focus on the music he began to play, attempted to pretend she was downstairs in her room hearing the song. When the cue for vocals to begin sounded, she opened her throat and let the beginning notes flow. Secretly, she was very surprised any noise came out at all given her nervous state.

Though she started out harshly, her voice not quite obeying her commands, she improved as the music continued. Her vocals warmed up and started going where she directed them, filling out the notes and accompanying the piano adequately. When she finished, her eyes remained closed for a few moments, feeling her heart race and her stomach twist with nerves. When she opened her lids, Christine discovered Master Destler studying her intently with slightly narrowed eyes.

She looked down and tried to stop herself from picking at the seam in her apron.

"You sing with promise." He finally said, quite calmly. It almost made a hysterical laugh burst from Christine's lips.

He turned back to his piano, shuffling through his sheet music and reorganizing the order. "I would like to teach you."

Christine could not contain the gasp which raced past her lips, whistling slightly through her teeth. "Teach me?"

He growled slightly "Yes, child, that is what I said. Will I need to repeat myself for you frequently?"

"No, sir." She swiftly shook her head. "It's just… why would you want to teach me?"

"As I said," his voice holds the undertone of irritation "your voice has potential. I believe that with the proper instruction your voice could be pleasurable to hear."

She blinked and a smile sprouted on her lips. He continued "Every day, I want you to come here at three o'clock in the afternoon. You will not be paid for your lessons and as such your salary shall be docked fifty cents a day. Understood?"

Christine nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Good. You are dismissed. Lessons start tomorrow."

Christine frowned in discomfort. "Um… Sir? I have not finished cleaning yet."

Master Destler looked around the room with mild surprise. "Then finish and be on your way."

He began again to play the piano and hesitantly, Christine resumed her task of polishing the organ before collecting her supplies and quietly exiting the room. She bounded down the stairs to the kitchen and jovially told them that she would begin to receive vocal lessons.

"I don't know," Raoul said bitterly "I don't trust that man. Seems creepy if you ask me."

"Come now, be happy for her!" Bethany scolded "You know that Master Khan won't let the child be hurt. Oh Chrissy this is so exciting!"

That night she found it hard to fall asleep. She listened with even more rapt attention than usual when Master Destler's music floated down from the room above. It was with great excitement she anticipated learning to become part of that beautiful sound.


	7. Chapter 6

By quarter to three, Christine had washed her hands and face, and had changed into a suitable gown. Her dress was very casual and comfortable, but it felt more appropriate than her maid uniform. The nervous excitement from the morning had boiled down to a terrified anxiousness by this point. She felt her stomach flop around in her stomach at the thought of being in the presence of such a temperamental musical genius. She had refused lunch for fear of vomiting it up during practice, which would clearly not do.

At the first chime of the clocks to signal the hour, she knocked shyly on the door of the music room.

"Enter."

Being careful to open the door as silently as possible, she entered the room. It felt very cavernous to her now and she tried desperately to calm her nerves. She could feel a nervous blush scorching her cheeks and was mortified at her obvious discomfort.

Master Destler watched her with ever-critical eyes as she entered the room, and stood next to an arm chair by the fire.

"Stand there." He indicated towards the far end of the grand piano.

Christine moved to where he indicated, hovering close to the black wood she had polished herself only yesterday.

"First lesson is posture." He stood from the piano bench and approached her. She felt a new rush of nerves attack her stomach as he came near.

With clipped instructions and touches so light they felt like a breath of wind, he indicated how she should hold herself, while explaining that proper posture would allow more air into the lungs, and better control over vocal pitch. She very obediently followed his directions until he deemed her posture acceptable. He then told her to relax and attempt to find the stance on her own. After several tries she was able to assume singing posture without assistance and he seated himself at the piano.

"You must also learn to read sheet music," He stated, handing her a page of what seemed to be very basic notes.

"Those are scales. I will play them for you on the piano and name the notes. Attempt to sing them once I have demonstrated."

Master Destler then proceeded to play the various scales on his piano, telling her about flat notes and sharp notes. She sang the scales to him several times over and he determined her vocal range. For the next hour she practiced singing scales and various notes. He drilled her and quizzed her by telling her to sing a B flat or an E sharp, or by handing her a new sheet of simple music and asking her to sight read.

By the end of two hours she was dismissed and told to return the next day. Her throat felt sore from so much use, but it seemed that he was pleased with her progress. She was thoroughly questioned about her lesson while she sipped tea with honey. Raoul grumbled about how he still thought it seemed creepy until Ruth teased that he simply had a crush on Christine and was jealous of the Master, at which point he blushed and exited the room.

Each lesson was more challenging than the last. Christine sung her scales until they were perfect and exercised her voice until it was powerful enough to fill an auditorium. Though, as she improved, Master Destler's expectations of her grew. When she would make a mistake, he would scold her harshly, sometimes yelling or slamming down on the piano keys.

With time it became a frequent occurrence for her to be brought to tears by his harsh criticisms and high expectations. Of course, Raoul boasted that he was right to not trust the man and took special care in comforting her after lessons that ended poorly.

Maestro Destler, as he came to be called by Christine, began demanding more and more from her voice. Though she tried her best and truly did improve it did not seem to be enough for him.

"No! That is wrong can you not hear it?" He shouted at her.

Christine cringed at his tone and fought back tears, loathing how weak they made her seem in front of him.

"Do you enjoy making errors? Is that why you insist on creating so many? Is it your goal to provoke me?"

"No it's not!" She screamed back, tears escaping her eyes which she ashamedly scrubbed away.

He was silent at her outburst and she continued.

"I do not enjoy making errors, I do not try to make them, and my goal is to please you!" She hiccupped sorrowfully "I want to make you proud of me. I want to my voice to make music that is fractionally as beautiful as the music you make."

He did not reply and simply watched her stand there, trembling as she fought to hold down sobs.

"Would you like to hear some of my music?" He asked her softly and she nodded slightly.

With almost tender care he began the first few lines of a song unfamiliar to her. Then he began to sing.

Christine listened as though entranced by his voice. It was otherworldly to her and Little Lotte came to mind, stories of an angel of music who would sing songs when the girl was asleep in her bed. Truly, this man was blessed by God, for there was no other way he could produce such grippingly beautiful abilities. Vaguely, Christine rationalized this must be why he has to cover his face. If anyone is to be born with such an amazing talent, they cannot be permitted to be handsome. Mortals may only possess so much perfection, lest they become too close to God.

His voice filled her with so many emotions as once that she felt herself coming apart at the seams. It was with great sadness his song ended and she felt tears fall across her cheeks from the sheer force of the music. Without realizing it, she took steps towards the man, who eyed her distrustfully. She halted herself an arm's length away from him, not certain what she had intended to do.

"That was beautiful." She whispered before laughing "Though beautiful is not an adequate word to describe it."

He smiled tightly at her.

Christine sighed heavily and felt as though her heart had grown heavier since she heard the song.

"You do please me."

Her stomach clenches tightly at the words.

"Your voice has greatly improved. It has improved so much, I find myself forgetting that it is not a heavenly instrument without flaw, and thus any imperfection startles me." His voice is soft, and yet stiff as though unused to tenderness. She met his gaze and felt herself swell with happiness at his praise. He studied her face intently as though trying to drink in the expression.

"As you are well aware we are hosting a Christmas Eve gala in the home very soon. I would like you to sing at the event."

Christine gasped and her hand flew to her breast. "Me?"

He nodded and stood, walking to the desk closest to the piano and lifting a small stack of papers from its surface, which he handed to her. "These are the songs I would like for you to familiarize yourself with. We shall also need to get you a new outfit, more appropriately suited for the occasion."

She nodded frantically as her eyes scanned the sheet music he presented her with. They were very elegant seeming opera-styled hymns. She looked up with excitement blazing in her eyes and once again she felt he was drinking in the sight.

"Tomorrow, instead of a lesson we shall go into town to find you a dress." With that he dismissed her and she flew from the room with a happy giggle bubbling from her lips.


	8. Chapter 7

"Erik," Nadir began carefully, entering the music room. "I hear you have asked Christine to sing at the gala."

"That is correct." He did not look up from the messy sheets of music in front of him.

"Your interest in the girl concerns me, my friend."

"Whatever for."

Nadir sighed and massaged his temple between his forefinger and thumb. "Because she is just a girl and I am worried someone will get hurt come the end of this."

Erik turned to face him "How, pray tell, could someone be injured from singing lessons?"

"You know that's not the extent of your interest as well as I do."

The composer scowled "Do explain what you are implying."

"Erik, you're falling in love with the child. I am worried what will happen should she not reciprocate your affections-"

"I'm not asking her to reciprocate them!" Erik bellowed "I do not expect her to! How could such an angelic creature love a monster? Do not think me a fool, daroga."

The Persian sighed and raised his hands in defeat. "Please Erik, I do not wish to see anyone harmed."

With that, Nadir left the room, closing the door behind him. Erik sat in the dim lighting, breathing hard from adrenaline for several minutes after the conversation ended. He would admit that the girl had effectively captured his heart. She had clutched it in her tiny hand the first day he heard her singing. It was a simple tune filled with content and she had looked so peaceful while lovingly polishing his organ, singing it a lullaby.

Every time she heard him play, he fell a little deeper in love with her. Her eyes would drift close and she would appear to drown in the music he created. It was clearly written on her face that she appreciated music as he did, that the music touched her soul as it did his.

Perhaps Nadir was right. She could well be the death of him.

The next morning, Christine bounced about the house, hanging Christmas decorations and washing laundry. It was clear to tell which clothes were Nadir's and which were Erik's. Erik had a much more conservative taste in clothes while Nadir's garments seemed more eccentric. Erik was also built with broader shoulders and more muscular frame while Nadir was exceptionally skinny and nimbly formed.

Christine admired Erik's formal style of dress, carefully washing the fine fabric. The scent of ink was heavy on his clothes, even though she had yet to find a stain on the rich cloth. It also smelled very musky, a sort of masculine odor that came directly from his skin. She flushed upon realizing she was analyzing her teacher's scent so thoroughly.

"Here you are, m'lady." Raoul poured a pitcher of hot water into the washing tub with an exaggerated bow.

Christine laughed and dipped her head "My most gracious thanks, m'lord." Raoul set the pitcher on the floor and crouched next to her, sitting on his heals.

"It's getting quite cold, be careful or you might freeze!" He said, motioning towards the tub of lukewarm water filled with suds. "Sometimes I wonder if you may be too cheerful."

Christine simply smiled and thanked the man for looking after her in her carelessness. Raoul would tend to keep her company whenever she was sitting still for long enough. He basked in her glowing mood or would comfort her in sorrow, depending on the day. Christine was rather oblivious to the suggestive glances the kitchen staff would often throw their way during such chats.

Come three, Christine had changed into her most formal gown. It was a deep mahogany color with white lace in the trim. Though it was her finest gown it was still quite modest and plain, which made her realize how desperately she required a new gown for the formal event. She began to mount the steps when she caught eye of Master Destler, smoothly walking down the stairs towards her. She paused and he met her at the ground floor.

Without a word he opened the front door for her and she shyly walked past him towards the elegant coach reserved for the Masters of the house. Phillip opened her door and Erik offered her his hand to help her up into the carriage, which she accepted bashfully. He climbed in after Christine and sat opposite her as Phillip closed the door and climbed to his seat.

Christine jolted slightly as the carriage began to move and Erik looked at her with a mocking smile. She blushed in embarrassment and gazed out the window while they rolled across the cobblestone. Shortly they arrived in front of a grand shop, with windows draped in yards of velvet. Erik helped her out of the carriage and politely held the door open for her. A tall woman with heavy makeup swooped in front of them and greeted the couple with a voice heavily coated in an angular accent.

"Oh hello! What may I be doing for you this morning?" She asked pleasantly.

Erik placed a hand cautiously on Christine's shoulder "We need a formal gown for the lady."

She smiled at him and ushered Christine deeper into the store, examining the girl with a cool gaze. "What is for?" She asked, not looking at Master Destler.

"A Christmas gala I am hosting. I want nothing but the best." He removed his top hat, smoothing a gloved hand over his immaculate hair.

She seemed to squeal at this and called over another woman in a guttural language Christine did not recognize. They held up color swatches to her face and compared fabric samples to her skin. Taking the confused girl behind a broad dressing curtain they removed her gown and skirts to measure her and take note of her figure. After several minutes of this they left and returned with a deep violet gown, which she was skillfully helped into. Once she was securely inside the dress, the two women stood her on a stool and pinned the seams in to fit her curves.

"Would like to see?" The first woman offered.

"No," he replied and Christine felt a tad disappointed. "I wish to be surprised on the night of the gala."

Christine smiled a little to herself and the women set to work placing the final pins and carefully removing her from the dress so as not to disturb the needles.

"Will be done in three days. You pay half now." The woman said sternly and Erik withdrew a stack of paper bills which he handed to the woman. She counted the money and, seemingly satisfied, tucked the cash into a discreet pocket on the side of her gown. After bidding the shop workers a polite farewell, Erik helped Christine back into the carriage.

"Thank you for the dress," Christine said quietly "it is truly lovely."

"A dress is made lovely by the woman who is wearing it." Erik replied and she met his gaze, feeling a blush approaching. She could never quite get used to his unwavering stare, and his subtly flattering words were throwing her off balance.

Back at the mansion, she was once again helped from the carriage and escorted inside. The trip to town had hardly taken an hour, leaving plenty of time for a short lesson. With such thoughts in mind she followed him up the stairs to his music room.

Once there, he did not move to sit at his piano or organ, nor did he select another instrument from his vast collection. Christine watched him as he stood before the fire, watching the coals. Hesitantly she let her eyes wander over the music that was splayed out on his desk. He had been composing again last night and heavily smudged papers were strewn across every available surface. Delicately, she ran her fingertips over the raised drops of hardened ink, imagining what the notes would sound like if sung.

Never before had she truly taken the time to look at his work, always worried he would catch her dallying in her chores. Though now he said nothing and allowed her to explore the room. Unable to sate her thirst, Christine's eyes drank in the sight of half-finished arias and soaring operas. Underneath the piles, she caught sight of a thick read leather folder. On its cover the words "Don Juan Triumphant" were neatly printed. Peeking out from the top of the folder she could see heavy pages of sheet music.

Suddenly she could feel the weight of his gaze on her back, and turned to see him observing her. After a heavy moment he spoke "I think a day of reprieve from my tutelage is due."

This surprised Christine, as the gala night was only ten days away. She moved closer to him and he eyed her warily as she sat in one of the plush armchairs near the fire. For a moment she could not find words to speak to him and simply contemplated his handsome figure.

"Do you ever publish your music?"

Erik seemed startled by her attempt at conversation and cleared his throat. "Yes, you might have heard of several of my works. Though they have achieved greater fame in Europe."

"Did you live in Europe?"

He sat in the chair opposite her and crossed his legs "Yes I did."

"Where?"

Christine blushed at her forwardness but it went unaddressed by her Maestro. "Many places. Most recently I lived in Paris, France. Though before that I have been to Italy and Germany, and before that I traveled the Middle East."

Christine's eyes danced with excitement "Oh, please tell me what it was like."

"Different from here in some ways, and in others the same." He dismissed with a shrug.

Erik caught the disappointed frown on her lips, despairing in the way her brow scrunched together in displeasure. A slight blush lit up her cheeks, which seemed to be a frequent occurrence.

"What would you like to know?"

She looked up with a gasp before a shy smile found her lips "Everything!"

Shifting so as to be more comfortable, Erik began telling her of his many adventures. He described the palaces he built for the noble master's in countries she had never heard of. The operas of Germany and Italy were regaled in great detail, as were his successes in France. The time passed swiftly with Christine perched on the edge of her seat, intently drinking in every word she was gifted. Erik basked in her rapt attention and blatant enjoyment of his stories. He was so fond of her devotion that he did not realize the amount of time which had passed until Christine's stomach loudly alerted them to its emptiness.

She covered her abdomen with a dainty hand while mortification blossomed on her face. Erik chuckled lightly and realized the hour was half eleven in the evening. Lithely, he rose to his feet and she quickly followed suit.

"I do believe it is time for you to retire and hopefully find a meal." He softly commanded.

She nodded and scuttled to the door, curtsying to him as she bid a fond goodnight. When the door closed behind her, Erik sat back down and stared at the chair she had been seated in. A mirthless laugh left his lips and he shook his head. A few stories were all it took to make her happy. It had been such a simple task to captivate her attention, when for so long he had been plotting the best was to converse amiably with her.

With sudden energy, granted by her kind attentions, he stood and made his way to his desk, moving the old papers to make room for new. A song had filled his heart and it felt to be a good time to begin another addition to his prized Don Juan.

Christine found the kitchen empty and, quietly as possible, found some bread and cheese to silence her stomach, chasing the heavy food with a crisp apple. Once her appetite was sated, she filled her pitcher with lukewarm water still in the cauldron over the empty hearth and entered her room. Making sure the door was closed tightly behind her, she lit a lamp and disrobed, bathing herself with a damp cloth and a few drops of inexpensive perfume she had purchased.

She felt her mind bursting with the stories Master Destler had told her. They were full of beauty and mystery, danger and intrigue, wealth and desolation. To think he had lived through so many amazing events! His life was truly something from a novel of fiction. It puzzled her that he could have done so many things and still seemed to be of a young age. Any other man with even half the adventures Master Destler was blessed with would surely be old and senile by now. She paused. Was Master Destler an old man?

He did not seem to be, his skin was not marred by wrinkles or age spots. His hands seemed strong, even if they were thin and bony. His voice was teaming with power and youth. Perhaps he had simply aged well? Or he was some demonic creature cursed to never age. That would certainly explain why he was able to go on so many safaris across the globe. Perhaps it would even explain the reason he wore a mask!

For a short moment she pictured that the hidden half of his face was not blessed to remain youthful and the truth of his years was showing. The skin was long dead and decayed from centuries of life, sections falling off and bits of skull showing through. Puss and fluids were secreted from open gashes that festered and oozed. Christine felt faint and swooned with nausea at the horrific image.

A shudder traveled up her spine, which she swiftly shooed away. Such creatures did not exist. Reprimanding herself for such sinful thoughts, she firmly stated that it was most probably a birth defect. Simple. Reasonable.

Once she was clothed in a heavy night gown and her hair was braided across her shoulder, she spared her reflection a final glance before extinguishing her lamp and climbing under the covers. Her reflection was a disappointment. Both her parents had been very beautiful, with regal features that inspired members of the opposite sex. Her chocolate brown eyes were soupy and dull compared to theirs, though she suspected that their eyes had shone bright from the love they felt. Her cheekbones were soft and her nose was narrow. She suspected that her lips were too pouty for her generally delicate features, and that her eyes were too wide for the small sockets they rested in. Her brows were thin and dramatically arched, which only worsened the appearance of her eyes.

Her hair was the one thing she took pride in, as it was precisely the same as her mother's hair. She could distinctly remember her mother using a regal comb to tame Christine's curls before bed, and telling her little girl that she should let her hair grow long to show off its beauty. When let loose, then it would hide her petite body in its thick waves. Her waist was narrow and her hips shapely, balanced by the size of her breast. However, overall she was thin and twiggy, almost deathly looking.

Christine pressed her cheek against the rough fabric of her pillow and willed such thoughts from her mind. It would do her no good to lament the misfortune she had been birthed into. Instead she chose to focus on humming the songs she had been given by Eri- Master Destler to memorize. With music easing her mind, she fell into a sleep plagued by confusing dreams she would not remember come morning.


	9. Chapter 8

"Oh calm down! We need to get you dolled up quickly, I have work to do." Ruth scolded her as the older woman laced up the completed violet gown. Christine's heart was racing and she twisted a worn handkerchief between her hands to battle her nerves.

It was the night of the Christmas Eve gala and guests were beginning to arrive. Maestro had told her to come to the ballroom at half eight and there were scarcely ten minutes until then. The rest of the staff was in a bustle preparing food and catering to guests. The cooks were dashing madly around the kitchen, preparing trays for the maids to carry out to the party. The stable hands were put to work at the door, taking coats. Even the gardener had been tasked with running to the cellar when champagne ran out or more salted meat was requested for a dish. Master Khan had made note to hire more personnel in preparation for future guests, as they felt thoroughly understaffed.

Ruth and Mabel (a very sweet young maid) had taken a few minutes off to help Christine get ready. Her hair was artfully styled, with most of her long curls falling loose across her back and shoulders, only a few crystal pins holding strands out of her face. Her makeup was very minimal, consisting only of a slight kohl lining to her eyes and a dab of color to her lips.

The final laces of her dress were being tightened and knotted into bows while Christine critically appraised her appearance in the vanity mirror. Having her hair down gave her confidence, and the purple of her gown set off her creamy skin while enriching the brown in her hair and eyes. She felt quite elegant in the gown, which had simple folds sewn with tiny crystals and amethyst. White angel hair lace had been added as accents to various seams of her dress, and at the neckline, which sat low on her breast bone allowing her cleavage to be slightly on display. Her shoulders were bare and the dress was held up by the whale bone ribs sewn into the bodice.

With a satisfied grunt of approval, Ruth announced that she was finished and rushed back to the kitchen. Mabel aided Christine to step into two tiny white slippers before giving an admiring once over. The clock displayed half eight and Christine took Mabel's arm, who helped her walk to the exit of the kitchen. She closed her eyes and attempted to find her courage before stepping alone into the corridor and making her way towards the boisterous chatter of the party-goers.

When she entered there was a perceptible falter in conversation as eyes fell upon her. Christine felt relieved when Master Khan detached from the crowd and greeted her with a handsome bow. She felt a blush on her cheeks at his gentlemanly display and swiftly moved closer to him.

"Good evening, Miss Da'ae." He said cheerfully.

She graced him with the curtsy she had been practicing all week and smiled. "Good evening, Master Khan."

"Please, tonight you must call me Nadir."

She nodded in acknowledgment and glanced around the room.

Brokenly, she could make out snippets of the conversations around her. The words made her heart sink.

"I heard she is a homeless girl…"

"…I wouldn't be surprised if she can't sing worth a penny."

"Well I heard she slept her way into the home-"

Christine bit back hot tears of embarrassment, not wanting black streaks of kohl to drip down her cheeks. She looked up to find her Maestro striding towards her.

His face was smoothed in a practiced emotionless mask she was no stranger to.

"You look divine this evening, Christine." He murmured reverently with a sweeping bow.

She curtsied but could not smile at the compliment, the cruel judgment of her masters' peers still heavy on her heart.

Erik stood with erect posture and looked down to meet her eyes. He stood very close to her and she distantly perceived Nadir excusing himself. There was a smoldering anger in Erik's gaze as he looked upon her sorrowful face.

"These fools make assumptions that I do not take kindly to." He growled out while surveying the crowd.

Christine looked down.

Erik offered her his arm, which she took and he led her to the piano. "Let's silence their tongues, shall we?"

He turned and tapped a butter knife against his champagne glass to gain the attention of his company.

"I would now like to properly introduce our guest of honor." His voice was authoritative and calm, commanding the attention of the room.

He sat at the piano, brushing his coattails over the back of the bench, and sent Christine a look which seemed to say forget about them. His fingers began to masterfully play the stanzas of a hymn she recognized immediately and she focused solely on the instrument and the music issuing from it. While fighting to keep her eyes open, she began to sing the accompanying lyrics while her maestro drowned her insecurities. The song was a moving peace, which would bring an audience to tears when performed with skill. Christine poured as much of her soul as she could into the notes, wishing desperately to reduce the crowd to a stunned disbelief.

It felt calming to allow her voice to swell and recede with the song, her lungs expanding to permit her music to pour forth. Come the close of the song, she placidly turned to face the shocked expressions of New York's wealthiest. Many women stained their handkerchiefs with their makeup-laden tears. Even a few men seemed close to their undoing. Erik stood beside her as she curtsied and suddenly thunderous clapping deafened her ears. Many people came forward to congratulate her on her talent, their previous haughtiness forgotten.

Christine's cheeks ached from smiling as she greeted the various patrons. Erik placed a ghostly hand against her lower back, so hesitant she could hardly feel its presence. Eventually he excused them from the masses to allow her a rest, during which he congratulated her on such breathtaking success.

"I doubt the angel's themselves have heard more heavenly singing."

Christine's cheeks blazed with pride as she drank in the praise. She also took this moment to take in her Maestro's appearance. As per usual he was formally garbed in a three-piece suit, though now a crisp bowtie rested on his collar. His jacket was made of a soft cotton material, and the vest underneath was a deep blue velvet. He wore black gloves in place of his usual white conductor's ones that were present during their lessons. And his usually white mask was now black, making his already pale complexion appear even more transparent. The suit made him appear to drip with power, his authoritative presence made more potent. Christine felt a shiver of appreciation light in her spine. That such a ghostly man could appear so masculine was impressive to her.

Erik's eyes very quickly swept over her gown before lighting on her face, as though afraid of being caught looking. He swiftly excused himself to make the announcement that dinner would be served shortly,

When he walked off the check the kitchens Christine stood idly in the corner of the room, holding a glass of red wine she had yet to sample. A trio of girls, perhaps Christine's age, approached her with admiring expressions.

"Oh you sing so heavenly! When did you learn?" a woman clad in forest green asked.

"Maestro Destler has been giving me lessons,"

Another girl cut it "Oh the mysterious masked man. I hear he is a composer. He's quite handsome."

"And wealthy too." The girls blushed and Christine smiled shyly.

The first girl's expression sharpened with sly malice "Pity he wouldn't be interested in you, child. With your voice and his musical genius it would be a fitting pair."

Christine frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Oh nothing dear, it's just he's part of high society!" The second girl, who wore a cream gown, spoke up "He will be looking for a proper lady with a substantial dowry."

"It's quite obvious he moved here to start a family, why else would he purchase such a fine home?"

Christine nodded slowly "… I suppose you're right."

The first girl shrugged and smiled sweetly at Christine "Of course we are, we've seen it happen many times. Hopefully you can continue to work for him once he has a wife. It would be a shame to see such a treasure out on the street."

With that the girls moved with the rest of the company towards the dining hall for dinner. Christine remained still for a moment before slowly following them, taking a sip of wine to calm herself. Why did what the girls say make her feel so… enflamed? She felt as though her stomach had dropped clean out of her and lay buried in the ground. Her cheeks burned and her throat felt tight. Obviously they were right, but why did that matter to her? He was her master and she was fortunate to be taught by him.

She took her seat next to Master Destler near the head of the table, while Nadir sat on the opposing end from her maestro. There it was again, she caught herself. Her maestro, in her thoughts he was always her maestro. Could it be that she was jealous? Whatever for though? Should he be married it did not mean that he would not be her teacher anymore… did it? Her hands felt quite cold and clammy in her lap. What if he married another girl with a singing voice and he grew tired of teaching a lowly maid? Secret thoughts also infected her mind. The idea of seeing another young woman in her maestro's music office, in her maestro's arms made her shiver with a sudden chill. He would smile at his wife and perform his music for her, tell her stories of his travels, maybe even take her to the far off lands he spoke of. He would hold her close for warmth during cold winter nights and he would kiss her skin and she would give him happy healthy babies he would dote upon.

Children that Christine would be tasked with bathing and feeding and looking after while the happy couple entertained guests. For a brief moment she was struck with fear. What if the woman was a viper of a girl who used her maestro for money? What if his children were born with a deformity and his wife scorned them for their misfortune?

Without realizing it, Christine had finished off her wine and started a new glass. She shook herself from her thoughts and smiled at her friend who placed a leafy salad in front of her. Grateful for the light first course she ate delicately whilst listening to the banter around her. The gentleman seated across from her was making conversation with Erik about business and she paid close attention, learning that her maestro meant to become the patron of New York's finest Broadway opera house. She also learned that he was nearly finished with a new opera score, which he hoped would debut in summer of next year.

Several times she was engaged in pleasant conversation with those around her, mainly men, who praised her for her skill. When they learned that Master Destler planned to become involved in the opera scene of New York, they encouraged him to groom her for the art so she might bless the city with her talent. He admitted the idea had crossed his mind.

By the main course, Christine had managed to find her appetite and heartily partook in the baked duck and its elegant side dishes. When the hour neared eleven, the plates had been cleared and Erik stood to give a final toast of thanks to his guests, after which the house swiftly emptied and adopted a quiet emptiness.

Her maestro sighed heavily and smoothed a hand over his hair, something that was a bit of a habit. Christine sat carefully in an ornate chair situated around the hearth of the main parlor. She brushed her hands over the fine gown and removed her gloves, which felt damp with sweat she had produced during her moments of discomfort. The maids moved about quietly, collecting champagne glasses that were perched on various surfaces of the house. Nadir excused himself for the night and her maestro sat near her, lighting a fat cigar and puffing it leisurely.

She watched him, fascinated by his smoking. He had never done so in front of her before, and given his dedication to music she assumed it was a practice he would frown upon due to the damage it could afflict on the lungs a throat. He caught her starting and looked abashedly at the cigar.

"It is a guilty pleasure I do not permit myself often."

She nodded and observed how his lips wrapped around the base of the cigar and he inhaled the thick smoke. The cigars had a relatively pleasant smell, as though there was cinnamon in with the tobacco. She enjoyed the scent as smoke hung in the air around her, feeling alcohol in her belly.

The wine that evening had been very pleasant and heady. The only alcohol she had partaken in before was cheap beer and an occasional swig of whiskey, provided by Meg. This wine was clearly an expensive pick as it was very smooth going down and left a pleasant, dry aftertaste on her lips. There were hints of spices in the drink to, which she had heard was classic of a winter wine. It did not seem to have as high of an alcohol content as her usual poison, though, as she did not feel any sluggish drunkenness in her limbs and instead had a slight buzz that made her vision fuzzy.

Erik's cigar slowly shrunk as he smoked and Christine sat in a pleasant silence beside him, picking up a small volume on a table next to her and opening it to read the preface. Her eyes soon felt dry and heavy, though, and she closed the book to find Erik staring at her quite intently. She suddenly felt very self-conscious under his gaze and flushed, lifting a hand to rest above her heart, and feeling the warm skin of her breast against her cold palm. He continued to watch her and she looked away, hand idly twisting her hair, which she had pulled over her shoulder to avoid sitting on it. The ends formed into wide ringlets that dissolved into waves the higher up her hair she looked until it was flat from the level of her breasts up, the weight of her hair pulling it straight.

When the clock tolled midnight she stood and curtsied good night to Master Destler before excusing herself. In her room, she carefully removed the precious gown from her body and hung it in her dresser. She removed the pins from her hair and washed her face clean. A weight of sorrow clung to her heart as she readied for bed. It was with a very slow confession she realized that, as ridiculous as it was, she had begun to fall in love with her maestro. The thought crushed her soul, knowing that she had hardly a dollar saved in comparison to his wealth, that she was in no way worthy of his affections. She was lucky he even addressed her, blessed he taught her to sing.

Her little fists pressed against the tops of her thighs as she forced herself to realize that her situation was a very fortunate one. Even so, a tear caressed her cheek in despair, for the young woman had not a clue how to halt the emotions that were brewing within her. That night she slept restlessly and thrashed about in her dreams.

Erik was vastly proud of his Angel and her performance that evening. All the guests were floored by her perfection. Such a heavenly voice and a flawless appearance stunned her audience. He could not, nor did he wish to, deny that the dress had looked delicious on her petite form. The color made her natural features radiant and its cut showed off her womanly figure. Even he had been shocked by her exceptional beauty and first class performance.

But what truly stuck with him was the vision of comeliness she became after the guests had left. She sat with a relaxed posture, in her elegant gown befitting a queen, across from him while he smoked his cigar. The fire light had cast soft shadows across her and he watched, amazed while she happily opened a book on her lap and smiled in contentment. In that moment he imagined her, just as she was, but with a beautiful band fitted on her left hand ring finger. He imagined that every day she would be dressed in finery and doted on hand and foot by an adoring husband. That she would practice her music and read books and do as she pleased in his home, as his companion. His wife.

A deep, venomous yearning overtook his soul as he drank in the picture of heaven she was. It stabbed him through the heart to think of her as a lovely young bride. She could never be his, she deserved a handsome young man who could bring her happiness and not sully her innocence with sin. Yet at the same time he reasoned, no other man would ever be able to worship her and provide for her as he could. Any other man would take her perfection for granted. Only he knew how to savor every simple gesture she made, knew to cater to her whim. What if she married and her husband neglected her? Erik nearly growled when he thought of a young man with a handsome face, taking a wife and yet inviting mistresses to his bed, as was normal of all husbands. Christine deserved a devoted husband, that would shower her with gifts and attention, who would devoutly worship her as the angelic being she was.

When she left the room, Erik stayed seated, brooding over his musings. How he wished to be that husband, which would be blessed with the duty of making her life a euphoric paradise. Closing his eyes, he remembered the warmth of her back against his gloved hand as he ever so cautiously placed his arm behind her. He remembered her elated smile when he voiced his approval of her singing, fondly recalling the large dimples that appeared on her cheeks. It was his most sincere wish to be a source of joy in her life.

He continued his inner battle, wishing a happy marriage on her, yet unsure of how to assure her one. He yearned so very deeply to be the man blessed by her hand, yet it was impossible. He chuckled dryly as he finished his cigar. In order to be that man, he would first need to become a man, instead of the sinful monster he was. His vile hands were stained with the blood of many souls and his wretched face bore the mark of the devil. His thin, gloved hand rose to touch the smooth surface of his black formal mask, picturing the jagged flesh beneath it. Once the coals died down to nothing, he made his way through the darkness to his third floor bedroom. Inside its sanctuary, he removed the mask and placed it in the topmost drawer of his dresser. The heavy curtains which he always kept drawn blocked out the light of the stars and he carelessly disrobed, climbing into his bed wearing only a long undershirt. Sleep never came to him that night.


	10. Chapter 9

Christine awoke to a thundering headache and weak limbs. She stumbled when getting out of bed and saw heavy bags under her eyes, her face framed with frizzy hairs that had escaped her braid. Immediately upon seeing her, the rest of the staff asked if she felt ill.

"Oh what a tragedy! To be sick on Christmas day." Ruth bemoaned and set about making a broth for Christine to drink,

The girl swayed and quickly sat down to avoid collapsing "I promise I am fine, I simply did not sleep well after all the excitement."

Even though the staff had been given the day off to spend with their loved ones, all offered to stay with her until she felt well again, but Christine shushed their worries and shooed them out the door. Raoul took more persuasion than the rest, but when she stated she would sleep all day and his worrying would most probably worsen her aches, he hesitantly bid her farewell. Her headache was mildly appeased when she drank the warm broth Ruth had prepared for her, but returned full force when she dropped the clay mug, causing it to shatter on the floor.

Very uncharacteristically of Christine, she swore under her breath and clutched her temples before looking around for a broom. Instead she saw Master Destler in the doorway, looking on with concern.

"Oh, I'm so very sorry about the mug," She slurred and put a hand on the counter to steady herself.

"Christine, are you feeling well?" He asked gently, taking a step towards her.

She nodded quickly and groaned as the movement made her already pounding head worsen. Her knees gave out from under her and he was across the room in an instant, arms supporting her fragile weight before she hit the ground. Christine's hands went to his shoulders and she fought to stay coherent.

"I may be a slight bit ill." She admitted and didn't have the strength to feel surprised when Erik lifted her up and carried her to the stairs. Her eyes were closed during the journey to the third floor, hands still on Master Destler's shoulders for balance while he held her in a bridal hold. She peeked through half closed lids when they entered a room, which she recognized as one of the guest suits. With great caution, Erik set her down on the bed and draped a heavy blanket over her. Her attempts at protest were ignored.

"Stay still and rest," he commanded with a tone of finality that left no room for opposition.

Obediently she let her eyes drift closed as he left the room. She must have fallen asleep, the mattress was heavenly after all, and she awoke to Erik holding a bowl of delicious smelling liquid. He propped her up so she was sitting and she extended her hands for the bowl. He eyed her fingers, which shook violently, and she sheepishly withdrew them. Not saying a word, he dipped a spoon into the stew and carefully lifted it to her lips. Christine blushed at being treated like a child but gratefully drank the satisfying spoonful.

He continued to feed her the soup until she was full and her eyes drooped with exhaustion. Another blanket was draped across her and she felt a coal pan being slipped beneath the sheets under her feet to warm the icy appendages. As Erik moved to leave she suddenly remembered it was, in fact, Christmas day.

"Excuse me?" The phrase was quiet and broken by her weak throat but immediately he was by her side, looking eager to cater to her.

"In my room, there are some boxes on my vanity… would you please bring them to me?" Christine whispered shyly.

He nodded in affirmation, eyes sharpening in determination to complete the task, and faster than her dizzy mind could process he was out of the room. An incredibly short amount of time later he returned, and she suspected that he ran both ways.

He placed the two dainty boxes on her lap and she selected the relatively flat one which was adorned with a blue bow. Using great concentration she handed it to him, declaring "Happy Christmas," with a weak yet heartfelt smile.

Erik accepted the box with confusion on his face and stood there holding it. She watched him for a minute before nervously motioning towards the box "It is my present to you."

He looked taken aback at the statement and stared down at the small gift incredulously. Then, with reverent enthusiasm he removed the bow and opened the box to find a folded pocket square inside. Lifting the cloth from the box, which he set aside with care, he observed the very detailed embroidery work on its border before his eyes fell on the elaborate "ED" which was sewn into a corner of the fabric. His gaze returned to her shy expression and she picked at the blanket in her lap.

"I know it's not much, and it isn't very fancy but I have found more time to do embroidery and thought you might enjoy something homemade…"

She trailed off and Erik felt tears prick in his eyes at the realization that her present, the first he had ever received, was not only for him but crafted by her own hands. She had made this beautiful object with her own, perfect hands specifically for him.

"It is perfect" he blurted out "the most thoughtful gesture anyone has made me."

She grinned happily and he joyously observed the expression. She looked back at the other small box and turned it over in her hands with a sigh.

"I had hoped to give this to Meg but I doubt I will see her today."

Erik knelt beside her, the pocket square held preciously in his left hand. "I could deliver it on your behalf."

She vehemently shook her head in refusal "Oh no, I can't ask that of you. You're my employer for goodness sake; it's my job to deliver things for you."

"But you are not well, I think it is perfectly reasonable you allow me to do this service."

She blushed "Well, there's also the complication of where she is… I doubt you would ever wish to go there."

"It will be nothing."

With eyes averted she explained that Meg works at a bar that is not the most savory of establishments. Once being told of the location, Erik plucked the box from her lap and stood to exit the room, demanding she get some sleep while he is out. Obediently she relaxed into the downy comfort of the bed and allowed her eyes to close.

When she next awoke, the room was dimming and her headache had faded with the light. Erik sat in a chair some feet from the bed she lay in, reading a book. He looked up when she stirred and immediately set the volume aside and approached her.

"How was the delivery?"

A look of discomfort settled over his features "Successful, I found your friend and informed her the gift was a Christmas package from you. Though not until after her peers assumed I was a, ahem- customer."

Christine's face flushed and she hid in her hands "Oh I am so sorry! I should have warned you but it's rather embarrassing…"

He chuckled "I would assume so. You are feeling better, it seems."

"Yes, much."

She looked out the window to catch sight of the sun setting over the city. Snow coated nearly every surface of the garden, creating a drastic contrast against the dirty brown of downtown. Erik left and returned with more of the stew from earlier, this time also bringing two small rolls. She placed the food on her lap and tore up the bread, dropping the hunks into the broth and happily eating the soaked bites of sourdough. Erik resumed his position in the chair and opened his book again. He was wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a vest buttoned over it. His trousers were long and black, fastened in place by suspenders that ran under his vest. She noticed he was wearing house slippers which looked out of place on his otherwise formally dressed body.

When she finished the food, she set the bowl on the small table beside the bed. Erik took note of this but did not move to get up. As the room fell into a gray darkness with the last few rays of sunlight, Christine drifted off into a peaceful sleep, feeling safe with her maestro watching over her.


	11. Chapter 10

Christine awoke, feeling disoriented and confused by the very soft cushion beneath her body. Cracking her eyes open, she realized that she must have slept through the night in the guest room. Carefully sitting up, she noticed Master Destler asleep in the chair where he had been the night before. A hand flew to her lips and stifled the gasp which escaped her.

He had stayed through the night, but sometime while he slumbered, his mask had become dislodged from his cheek, the ribbon which secured it in place was loose and allowed it to fall to the side. She could not see his entire right profile, but the scared contours of his skin could clearly be perceived from under the mask. She stared, wide-eyed at the rumpled flesh and took in the unnatural contortions of his face. Truth be told she felt an initial wave of relief, at not discovering the rotting flesh she had imagined. Instead, the mark appeared as though he had suffered a terrible burn, or maybe an encounter with acid. The skin was papery and yellowed, rubbing raw in some places from the ever-present mask. It looked less healthy than the skin on the exposed side of his face, most likely from always being covered and never receiving any fresh air or light.

Christine studied the deformity with a curious interest, knowing this was a rare chance. It was certainly not handsome, and she could understand why he covered it. Humans were vain creatures and would reject him for his looks. She might have been frightened by the marred flesh had she not known the man, or had she expected to simply find a minor flaw. But she did know the man, and she had been expecting a far more gruesome reality. The longer she studied him, the more average the deformity appeared to her. It was no more shocking than seeing him in the stark white mask he bore daily.

Quietly she giggled to herself at her foolishness, thinking there would be exposed skull or putrid flesh oozing fluids. Such deformities did not exist!

He stirred and she swiftly lay back down, feigning sleep. She heard him sit up and gave him a moment to right himself before rolling to her side and letting out a soft sigh, 'waking up' so as not to be caught in her pretending. When she lazily opened her eyes, his mask was back in place and he sat calmly watching her as if he had been awake for ages. She sat up and looked around before frowning at her maestro.

"Why did you let my stay here all night?"

He stood and brushed the wrinkles from his pants "You looked peaceful and I was loathe to disturb you."

Grudgingly she got out of bed and folded the blankets with a practiced skill before smoothing out the sheets she had slept on top of. She sensed her maestro pause before he exited the room. Christine sighed and put the blankets away before heading downstairs to freshen up and begin her day.

Everyone asked how she was feeling, some touching her forehead in search of fever. But her cheerful mood and healthy complexion rested their fears, letting them go about their jobs normally.

In early January a butler was hired due to a need that arose once visitors began to come calling on the mansion's owners. He would greet guests and take calling cards, serving the masters directly when they required a drink or meal. The man was named Sebastian and got along quite swimmingly with the rest of the staff. Ruth liked to tease the middle-aged man, who laughed good-naturedly at her jokes.

Christine continued with her singing lessons, though they were rescheduled for five in the afternoon due to business affairs occasionally clashing with the original time. She curiously paid attention whenever a primly dressed gentleman met with Master Destler or Master Khan. A majority of the time it was to discuss the opera, and eventually only one theater house was spoken of, the Palais Garnier. The masters of the house established themselves as the patrons of the famous opera house, and would have frequent meetings regarding what was to be performed, occasionally discussing her maestro's work. She became aware that his newest score would be produced by the opera house upon its completion.

However, as the months slowly ticked by, several other visitors would come calling. These ones, made Christine feel hot with discomfort and humiliation. Richly dressed wives of the city would come and bring their daughters to meet the two men. Though it was said to be a simple introduction, a welcome to the city, it was clear to Christine that the women wished to snare a wealthy husband. Sometimes, she would be forced to bring out the tea for the meeting, placing it in front of a lavishly decorated girl close to her age, and sometimes younger. The girls and their mothers would wear too much perfume and bat their eyelashes at her maestro in a flirtatious manner. Occasionally she would hear the sharp false laughter of the women in reply to a dry comment made by her maestro and wince.

She could hardly tolerate it, and would frequently find herself in her room crying hot tears of jealousy which humiliated her. Christine would often stare into her mirror and critically accuse the reflection of being unreasonable. She knew that he would have to marry a nice young girl with a huge dowry and pretty features. When she was feeling exceptionally cruel, she would remind herself that not only was she missing the dowry meant to give a husband, she was also missing the precious flower between her legs. That vital piece of her worth was destroyed years ago in a memory clouded by her first taste of whiskey (which she remembered had been given to her "for nerves"). No one could ever desire such a pitiful excuse for a wife, let alone her maestro.

This realization would cause her to weep bitterly. The salty tears felt like acid on her cheeks and self-loathing churned in her stomach. Even so, every evening, Christine would meet her maestro in his office, which now drowned in sheet music of his own composition. There she would feel at peace, a warm happiness spreading through her stomach. He was attentive to her every movement while they practiced. She tried to please him with an unrivaled vigor and his criticisms were always light, a subtle correction to her posture or a repeated aria.

With the passage of time, her nineteenth birthday grew nearer and she felt like she was becoming an old spinster. Meg laughed at her, indicating her own twenty years of age and proclaiming that she was still ripe with youth. Christine laughed with her friend, but knew Meg could never understand the pain it caused Christine. Meg seemed to enjoy her … work. But Christine was damaged, forbidden from ever starting a family that she so desperately wanted. As she grew older, the possibility of marriage felt more and more outlandish. However, Meg did catch on to her friend's love-laden heart.

"It's that mysterious masked employer of yours, isn't it?" She teased and grinned knowingly as a telltale blush covered the younger girl's face.

"If you must know, yes."

"Well!? What are you going to do about it?" Meg bounced and leaned forward eagerly.

"D-do about it? Why, nothing of course."

"That simply will not do." Meg wagged a finger disapprovingly "How about you seduce him?"

Christine choked on air at the suggestion and began to stutter incoherently.

"Come on, Christine, it's easy. It can be really fun too!"

Very firmly, Christine shook her head no and found her voice "Absolutely not. No. Not happening."

Meg pouted but knew her innocent little friend wouldn't be able to without fainting from embarrassment. "Very well, but you should do something. I'm sure he loves you too. And if you ever need some advice on being a skilled lover," Meg winked "you know who to call on."

Christine's blush spread to her ears and down her neck at this, causing Meg to cackle at the tomato-like appearance of the poor girl.

As winter faded into spring, Christine commissioned for a few new dresses to be made that were better suited for the weather. Spring was her favorite season, as it was full of new life and the promise of new beginnings. Apparently that was what the husband-hunting women (or vultures, as Christine secretly called them) also thought. They flocked to the house and would flaunt themselves without a shred of self-respect. It seemed they were becoming desperate, seeing as each gossiper knew he simply must have moved here in look of a wife.

The butler would have a tray brimming with calling cards from women he had to turn away due to the master's refusing guests or being engaged with another family. The fairer weather emboldened the young girls, which was undoubtedly what led to one of the most interesting events the staff would ever have to gossip about.

It seemed that Master Destler had grown vastly tired of the frequent calls of young women, and had resigned himself to his room while Master Khan was tasked with catering to the guests. A young girl, who Christine vaguely recognized as the cruel woman in a green dress from the Christmas party several months earlier, excused herself to the powder room during tea. However, as Christine emerged from a guest room she had just finished dusting, the girl was slipping into Master Destler's bedroom.

Christine panicked. Apparently he had abandoned his habit of locking the door, having come to assume no one would enter without knocking. She couldn't very well follow the girl but Christine doubted that her maestro, her maestro, wanted to be disturbed. She hesitantly walked to the end of the hall and stood in front of the door, hand poised to knock when she heard voices. Abandoning her manners, she pressed an ear to the seam where the door met its frame and quieted her breathing.

"Oh Erik," the girl purred seductively "I mean it, whatever you wish."

Master Destler's voice reached Christine's ear and made her stomach flop with unease. His tone was slightly amused and challenging "Really. Anything I so choose."

"Anything," the vile seductress whispered.

Air ceased to enter her lungs as Christine realized what was occurring. She felt the desperate urge to flee the scene but yet her feet remained glued to the floor, her mind telling her she needed to know his answer.

"You poisonous viper," Erik's tone changed suddenly and it held such rage and disgust Christine felt a moment of pity for the girl on the receiving end of it. Never before had his voice sounded to threatening and loathsome.

There was a strangled squeak as if someone tried to scream but was unable to do so. "How dare you enter my chambers and flaunt your rotten wares to me. How many times have you spread your legs for a man's prick? Countless occasions, I'm sure." He growled, rising in volume with each syllable.

"GET OUT!" He thundered and Christine heard a muted thud followed by scrambling.

She scuttled away from the door as it burst open, a terrified wisp of a girl fleeing the room.

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Erik bellowed in a terrifying baritone, storming to the door after her.

Christine watched in amazement as the girl flew down the hall, nearly leaping the railing in an effort to escape. Her gaze traveled back to Erik, who stood still, wrapped in a bathing robe and breathing hard, his hair more a mess than she had ever imagine it could possibly be in. He saw her standing there and corrected his posture, slowed his breathing.

She looked back in the direction of where the girl had run, hearing as she grabbed her mother and exited the house before Christine turned back to her maestro, an amused giggle bubbling up her throat. She covered her mouth as if to catch it but more followed and she was laughing heartily at the poor girl's fright. Master Destler watched her warily for a moment before cracking a smile and smoothing his hair down. Her eyes watered with mirth and he looked on, seemingly amused by her reaction. Christine managed to calm herself and she wiped her eyes, observing Master Destler's state of undress for the first time. Her cheeks burned as she took in the exposed pectorals of his chest, showing evidence of his physical strength in their muscle definition. Dark hairs were scattered over the firm looking skin and he looked down, noticing his garb.

Her maestro swiftly retreated into his room then and shut the door, allowing Christine's cheeks to cool. The other maids appeared at the top of the stairs, looking at her curiously. Briefly, she explained what had happened and soon the girls were snickering at the brash actions of the 'high-society lady'. Come lunch time, the whole staff knew and it became a favorite tale to tell.

At five o'clock, she entered the music room to find Master Destler seated at the piano, facing away from her. His hands were resting tensely on his knees and he did not look at Christine until she was standing in her usual place by the end of the piano.

"I would like to apologize for my behavior earlier today." He stated firmly, looking up.

Christine smiled in confusion "Why? You did nothing wrong."

He shook his head "I lost my temper."

"Yes, well I believe it was appropriately misplaced and truthfully I found the whole ordeal rather comical. Besides, that girl was never polite to me, it seemed just that she be treated impolitely while within the household"

"She was rude to you? How?"

"I'd rather not say." Christine looked at her hands, warring against her need to blush, which would give herself away. Erik stared for a few moments before letting it go and resuming his apology.

"Then permit me to apologize for my inappropriate state of dress."

Christine's stomach was full of butterflies then, thinking over the strong plane of his chest and his broad shoulders. The bottom of his calf which had been visible, connecting with strong ankles and large feet. She picked at a loose thread on her dress and nodded.

"Apology accepted."

Her voice sounded weak and she cringed slightly at its pathetic sound. She cleared her throat and looked up, to find her maestro avoiding her gaze. He did not look at her much during that lesson, choosing to stare only at the music in front of him which was unusual. He knew every piece by heart and did not need to read music to play it. Normally he watched her with rapt attention and critical eyes. She felt uncomfortable with the change, though did her best to hide it. At the end of the lesson she retired, bidding him goodnight which he stiffly acknowledged.

When she closed the door, Erik rested his head in his hands. Curse that stupid girl who strode up to him like a well-known lover. She had been overly familiar with him, it felt like an insult to his angelic Christine that he would even grace such a vulgar proposition with an answer, even as the answer was a firm no. Then he ended up shouting at her, clutching a hand around the throat he so dearly wanted to snap, throwing her to the ground and demanding she leave him. Of course his precious Christine had been in the hall when that vile demoness fled his presence. She had undoubtedly heard his threats upon the girl.

What happened next assured the man that there was a God and he was indeed merciful. For instead of responding with fear and horror, his lovely angel had burst with a most delicious sound, pealing bells of laughter echoing in the hall around her. She seemed amused by the horrid woman's desperate escape. Then of course she toke notice of his robe, which he had forgotten he was wearing. Her sweet naïve eyes were victim to his disgusting flesh and she appeared greatly embarrassed by the sight. Yes, God was merciful, but he could not allow a monster's rage to go unpunished.

Oh, Christine. How violated she must have felt and the fault lay on his shoulders. Erik's nails clawed at the mask on his face and he bemoaned his luck. Christine, forgive me, please, forgive me.


	12. Chapter 12

Christine stood outside the manor and overlooked the vast gardens. Spring was fully upon them and the plant life had sprung into bloom. Leaves decorated the trees and the grass was green and the flowerbeds burst with color. She smiled as a breeze tugged on her skirts, lifting butterflies from their perches and into the wind. There were a few puffy clouds in the sky, framing the sun which shone brightly. After a moment more, Christine traveled back inside the kitchen.

She and her fellow maids went about the house opening windows to let in the fresh air. The house had grown stagnant during the winter months, and the soft breezes were a welcomed change. Tomorrow was Christine's birthday, she was turning nineteen, and a week earlier she had accidentally let the news slip. The staff was more excited than she was, Ruth informing her that a cake would be made just for the occasion. A small celebration was planned and, while Christine played the part of an irritated victim, she was secretly excited for the event.

Her last few birthdays had been passed with only a happy wish from Meg and a free hot meal provided courtesy the Madame Giry. The several ones before that had no memorable differences from an average day. When her father was still alive he would do his best to get her a small cake and do something special, sometimes saving up money to visit the theater or to buy her a beautiful gift. When her mother still lived was the time when Christine's birthdays were truly joyful. She would be presented with a homemade cake topped with pretty pink icing, and a lovely gift would follow. There was a special dinner consisting of all her favorite foods, and the family would sing happy songs together. That night, she would be allowed to sleep in her parents' room and the three of them would stay up late reading stories from books her father had collected.

Though she knew tomorrow would make her miss her lost family, Christine was eager to experience a true celebration of her birthday.

Thoughts of her parents always made her mourn. Not only their loss but her own loneliness. She longed to have children, and be the loving mother her own mama had been to her. She wanted to have a baby to cradle and nurse, a toddler to dote on and love, a child to teach, and a teenager to guide. She wished to have a family like she had as a young girl. Her parents were deeply in love with one another and no matter the situation they stood strong by one another's side. She could not remember them ever fighting, instead being supportive, even during hard times. She remembered their love for her with great clarity. How they delighted in her every triumph and encouraged her to dream and love life. Even after her mother's passing, her father had loved her dearly.

Christine sighed. Nothing could be done.

Early in the morning, Christine woke and readied herself for work. She could hear the kitchen bustling with movement which was unusual of the time. Normally she was the first to wake.

When she entered the kitchen, her friends greeted her with hushed exclamations of good will and joy. She was treated with an egg on toast for breakfast, with bacon fried in sugar and maple syrup on the side. The food was savory and she thanked them for their kind words and happy presence. When the sun began to rise she walked around the house, drawing the curtains to let in the light and waiting until mid-morning to open the windows for fresh air. The day seemed happier and she felt carefree.

Raoul bid Christine a good morning before unveiling a flat box tied with a bit of ribbon. He dramatically handed it to her, his grin shy upon his mouth. Christine opened the box to find a soft red scarf nestled in the wrappings. It felt quite luxurious and she scolded the boy for his lavish spending before thanking him for the lovely garment. A slight blush crept onto his cheek and suddenly he felt very close to Christine. His proximity made her uncomfortable and she took a step back right as he was about to lean down closer to her. With a cheerful wave she dashed to her room and stowed the scarf away in her dresser for next winter.

At lunch she had a flavorful sandwich chased by a sweet pastry Phillip bought in town while out running errands. The day flew by, sped up by her good mood. Before she knew it, the clock was tolling five and she quickly made her way to the music room.

Her maestro was seated at his desk, facing her, when she entered. After closing the door behind her, he cleared his throat.

"I am aware that today is your birthday," He began stiffly, to which she nodded in affirmation.

"It is customary to be given gifts on such an occasion, and I have something for you."

She gasped, eyes sparkling with childlike excitement and he procured a small ornate box for her to take. She swiftly approached him and lifted the box delicately. It was made of a very dark colored wood she had not seen before and carved on the lid was a decorative likeness of a monkey playing the symbols. Exotic looking swirls and patterns surrounded it and danced across the lid. Each carving was painted with rich color and the symbols appeared to be tinted with gold leaf.

The ornate style of the box was continued on the sides and Christine searched for a way to open the container. Master Destler motioned towards a compass carved in the front of the box. She looked carefully before seeing the South was pointing upwards. She pressed the carving with her fingertips and it pushed in. She then turned the circle so North was facing up and the lid popped open.

Inside was a velvet lined jewelry box, a mirror on the lid. When she opened it a happy tune began to play and she gasped in pleasure.

"Oh it's lovely!" She exclaimed

Master Destler smiled genuinely at her happiness. She cradled the box to her chest and resisted the urge to hug her maestro. "Where did you find this?"

"I made it myself." He replied

Christine felt her jaw drop in surprise and she looked back at the beautiful craftsmanship. She felt in awe of her maestro's talent. Her hand took his and she squeezed gently in gratitude "Thank you,"

He held her gaze and she smiled before pulling away and walking to the end of the piano. Erik shook his head and moved to sit by the fire, motioning her to join him.

"You have earned a day off," He informed her as she sat "feel free to act as you please."

After a short pause, Christine stroked a finger over her gift and began a conversation "Where did you learn to do this?"

Erik, who had been hoping for her to ask him questions, was prepared with an answer and soon he was regaling her with stories of his life. She listened with the same rapt attention as the last time they sat and talked. However, at seven o'clock Christine excused herself, informing her maestro that the staff members had prepared a special supper on her behalf. He encouraged her to join her friends and she left the room feeling truly joyful.

The dinner was splendid and rich with flavor. Though, as glorious as the meal was, the finale took the show. A beautiful little cake was proudly set before a beaming Christine and her friends sang a poorly harmonized rendition of Happy Birthday to her. The cake was delicious and she thanked everyone profusely. After the meal she retired to her bed room and admired the jewelry box she had been given.

Unlocking it, she placed her modest amount of jewelry into the velvet lined interior. A proud smile graced her lips, her maestro hade made this with his own hands and given it to her. There it was again, getting possessive in her thoughts. Mentally, Christine scolded herself.

Looking back at the box she carefully she placed the box on the center of her modest vanity. Dressing in her nightgown, she brushed her hair while her eyes drank in the rich appearance of the box. Once her hair was braided she extinguished her lamp and climbed under her blankets where she was lulled to sleep by happy music drifting down from the second floor.


End file.
